Glass Arm
by Black-Rose-117
Summary: This is the second story. I do hope you all enjoy. If you wish to read ahead, you can visit my DeviantArt page at I do hope you all enjoy Blake Moriarty


"Sherlock?" John called, entering the flat, just getting home from the clinic.

He took a few steps into the flat, then almost passed out from the smell, radiating from the kitchen. He grabbed the wall for support and covered his nose with his jacket.

"Sherlock!" John shouted through his jacket, the stench overpowering.

"Mhmm?" Sherlock answered, barely audible though the flat was silent.

John stumbled into the kitchen, leaving his jacket over his nose and sliding his hand along the wall, just in case. Sherlock sat on a stool, examining what looked like blood in a pipet. He swished the red liquid around, then gave it a long hard star, then looked up at John. John looked at Sherlock, then around the kitchen, which seemed to be a new place to hold all sorts of bodies and body parts. Arms, legs, skulls, heads, eye balls in jars; you name it. The smell of death wafted through the whole flat, and John felt sick to his stomach from the old, too familiar smell from the war.

"What in the hell Sherlock? What's all this?" John asked, looking at his partner over his jack collar.

"Experiment," Sherlock beamed at him, "to see which would decay faster."

"And the eyeballs?"

"Simply there for display. Thought you may enjoy looking at them."

"Really..?" John asked slowly in disbelief, bending over and looking at the eyeballs.

"Yea!"

"And the smell doesn't bother you at all..?" John asked, standing and just staring at the jar, keeping his mouth and nose covered.

"Not really. Why? Does it bother you?" Sherlock asked, smile fading.

"A little..." John said, finally peeling his eyes off the jar and looking at his partner.

Sherlock looked slightly hurt, as though he expected John to enjoy the smell and experiment. John walked over and clapped his hand down on Sherlocks shoulder. "I'll get rid of it all, if it makes you happy, John." Sherlock sighed, looking up at John.

John hugged Sherlock around the neck from behind and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Sherlock, slightly shocked from the kiss, smiled at John as he let go. "It'll be gone by the end of the hour. I promise." Sherlock smiled, John walking to his room.

"Thank you." John said, then he shut the door to his room.

-

John looked at the clock on his wall, the end of the hour was coming up soon. John, curled up in bed with a good book, had been listening to the rustle of Sherlock cleaning for the past 46 minutes. He was shocked. This must of been the first time Sherlock has cleaned anything up for himself... He must really want John happy. John smiled to himself at the thought of Sherlock repaying John, for all the times he has cleaned up after him. He laughed a little at the thought, then continued reading his book.

There was a crash that sounded like shattered glass then a long, painful sounding moan coming from the kitchen. Soon after, Sherlock's voice in a gritted teeth, painful sounding wail echoed through the halls, "Jooooohhhnnnnnnn..."

John threw the book on the bed besides him and scrambled up, out of bed. He threw open the door and raced down the hallway towards the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. Sherlock was laying on the ground, gripping his right arm, teeth clenched, obviously in pain. Glass surrounded him and John could tell that Sherlocks coat was torn on the sleeve.

"Sherlock!" John scurried over to him and got down on his knees next to Sherlock. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Sherlock removed his hand from his right arm, revealing cuts and shards of glass deep in his arm.

"Oh, Sherlock..." John muttered.

Slowly, he got to his knees and, with his army strength, he lifted his wounded lover into his arms. He carried Sherlock over to the couch, sat him upright, carefully took off his coat, scarf, and shirt, and started examining the cuts.

"Let me go get my bag, hun." John said, standing and placing a worried hand on the side of Sherlocks face. With that, he left the room and came back soon after, carrying an old, battered-looking medical bag. He set the bag down on the table, opened it, sat next to Sherlock so his wounded arm faced him, and started to search for his tweezers.

"I'm not going to lie, Sherlock. This will sting quiet a bit." John said, bracing his partner's shoulder.

"Call me hun again..." Sherlock whispered.

"Huh?"

"I liked hearing it..." Sherlock glanced at John, his face expressionless, yet, pleading.

"Ok hun, you ready?" Sherlock nodded, releasing his breath. "Just, try to hold still."

John grabbed the first shard with his tweezers and worked it out of the skin, watching Sherlock wince in pain. But he didn't cry out. He continued pulling out shard after shard, Sherlock whimpering in pain as he did so. John could see that Sherlock's eyes were watering from pain. He hated this just as much as Sherlock did... He was hurting his partner, which hurt him too.

He finally got down to the last shard of glass. Grabbing it with his tweezers, he glanced up at Sherlock, who had his eyes shut, a tear rolling down his face. He was in so much pain...

John shifted a little on the couch, getting into a more appropriate position to remove the shard. He started working it out, and as he did, he craned his neck up to kiss Sherlock just under the jaw. He bit down on Sherlock's neck as he removed the glass and sucked on it till there would promisingly be a bruise. Sherlock moaned, from both the excitement he felt from John's forceful touch, and from the pain in his arm becoming overly unbearable.

John let go of Sherlock and placed the last shard on the table with the others. He then placed the tweezers in his bag, searched around inside it for a minute, then pulled out rubbing alcohol and a cotton ball. He dampened the cotton and looked at Sherlock. He nodded, and John started cleaning the wounds, Sherlock groaning in pain. After he bandaged them up and put his stuff away, he pulled Sherlock close into a very tight, loving hug.

"Be careful, hun." John whispered in Sherlock's ear, sending shivers down Sherlock's spine.

Sherlock nodded, then pulled John down onto the couch, Sherlock laying on his back and John next to him, on his side.

"Sleep with me a little?" Sherlock asked, looking at John lovingly and longingly.

John wrapped his arms around his detective's middle and pulled him so close he could feel his heat radiating from his body. He loved it, that feeling. And soon, he fell asleep on this beautiful, wonderful, loving man who he could call his own.


End file.
